HUB 360

[robotdick]

This merry little haunt wasn't familiar to Nick, but the address was correct, for what it was worth. There weren't many buildings with penthouses intact, but Hancock had told him to show up here, so here he was. Honestly, as he came up the stairs, Nick wasn't entirely certain what to expect.

Was it a stash house? No, Hancock and he had a tentative understanding about chems. Nick didn't comment and Hancock didn't do them right in front of him if he could help it. It was about the best the synth could hope for, and a fair improvement on their previous arrangement of: nothing.

Was it a new settlement? Bit of a stretch but Evaris did have ecclectic moods.

Maybe he...Nick came up blank. He didn't have a clue or a chance in hell of divining one, so he shouldn't waste the breath (figurative) trying to hash it out. He just stuffed his hands in his pockets, kept his revolver at the ready in case this locale wasn't secure yet, and trudged up more flights of stairs than he cared to count.

At the top he stepped out of the stairwell and through time. One second he was in the Commonwealth and the next he was standing on fine plush carpet in Boston, MA. This place was an absolute time warp, like walking into a photograph, and Nick was entirely thrown as he let the door behind him close and cautiously wandered in.

No turrets...so that was a start.

Cameras? Didn't spot one, didn't see any mics either but he was sure there were a few. This place had electricity and...was that hum an airconditioner?

"Where the hell am I?"

Comments

I don't think they make the correct facial expressions in game xD

[chem_break]

[ Hancock's fingers snake down one side of Nick's jaw, curl around the back of his neck and haul him forward like he's made of tin. ]

I was waitin' on the 'please', but thank ya kindly for all those colorful suggestions

[ The ghoul growls, gritty-gracious, while his dick finally, finally spears the synth's throat. He's rougher this time than he had been the first, with a variant grasp on his own desires. With one orgasm already wrung off his nerves, the ghoul's got better, clearer, more vicious control of himself-- of how rough he can be and how much he can push before triggering that perfect-sweet overload.

He bucks wild for too near to a minute, all but forgetting about the camera he's holding. His grip on the thing slacks and it thumps against his chest, while the ghoul's head rolls forward on his neck and the vicious, unholy sounds start to tear out of his throat.

Then he stops very suddenly, sheathed to the hilt. Hancock has remembered the camera, and takes a long savoring moment to line up and focus the perfect shot of Nick's mouth stretched so wide around him. ]

Lemme see those eyes wide open now, Nick. Gotta look pretty for the money shot, doncha?~

I'm sure there's a mod for that. There's a mod for everything. Gonna make the cutscenes awkward tho

[robotdick]

[Nick would feel a bit embarassed for overstepping if he wasn't then, immediately, granted the thing he'd been begging for. Hancock drives in and Nick's almost startled by it--his throat stutters in a vague attempt to swallow as it's forced open, contracting and tensing around his dick. Between the hand against his neck, almost pulling him off balance, and the cock bottoming out hard somewhere around his voicebox, Nick's stuck buffering for more than a second, trying to keep up.

When he comes back around to awareness, awash in data, Nick couldn't be happier. He groans with the feeling of that wild thrusting and tries to suck down a breath. The extra vacuum just tenses his trachea, makes it a tighter fit for Hancock and a more dramatic spike in data for himself.

Speaking of--Hancock is singing him a symphony of debauched, gutteral noises. Nick's happy to listen to every one even as Hancock's hips snap into his face, but then all motion halts. His processing load drops from the high seventies to somewhere in the low teens immediately and Nick tries to lean further forward, to chase the movement, but there's nowhere to go. He isn't whining, not aloud, but when he follows Hancock's next order he looks about as needy as he feels.

His gaze meets the iris of that camera--another flash--another carraige return--and the fingers on Hancock's knees grip a little firmer against the flesh.

He's not desperate and clawing, but he's right on the border.

Hancock takes another, and another, and Nick's diaphragm tries to draw breath around the still, thick weight stoppering up his lungs. His fans, having slowed as his temperature dropped, kick back up and it's all Nick can do to plead with his eyes. He strains a bit against the hand that's got a hold of his skull, tries to draw back, but he doesn't want to exert the force necessary to move. The odds of that being read as discomfort, a plea to stop, are far too high.]

[chem_break]

[ Nick feeling embarrassed is part of the strategy of the game. Makes him look even hotter taking dick down the sleeve of this throat like a damn pro if there's just a small dash of frivolous shame in the mix, too. The unnatural-mechanical drag when his throat swallows, the way the cables and chamber squeeze so impossibly tight; it feels like some kind of impossible sex-dream, the kind that defy logic and reality for sheer carnal value.

But it's all so very real, and Hancock's got the photographic evidence to prove it. ]

Lookit you, pretty boy. [ Click. ] Patience of a damn saint. [ Click. The ghoul's dick gently jerks against Nick's tongue. ] That look on your face... ya wanna fight me, but ya don't want me to stop, huh...? [ Click. Finally, outta film. Hancock sets the camera down amid the flurry of photos. ]

Guess we are gunna need a safe word. Heh... C'mon now, hands on the edge'a the desk, just like before. That's it.

[ All it takes is Nick's compliance to sound the gunshot that starts a race. The sheer brutality of Hancock's movements is a startling testament to how much he must have held back on their first date. Nick will absolutely have the slightest indents at the back of his neck and base of his skull, shaped perfectly to the rough pads of Hancock's fingers at their fiercest grip.

And for all the ghoul's teasing, back and forth manner of things, this time? He's aiming not to stop until Nick finally catches and crashes against that burning brink of oblivion. ]

[robotdick]

[Nick's hands shift to the desk and, just as he's got a hold of it, Hancock delivers all the intensity Nick could ever want for. The stream of sensory data floods the space behind Nick's eyes and, despite himself, he closes them again. The back of his skull throws flags as Hancock's grip bites in. He bends the casing into a subtle, impromptu handhold, and Nick's cognitive functions stutter trying to keep up. It's excruciating, debasing, and exactly what he wanted. Hancock executes this with overwhelming force and attentive generosity.

Nick's heart clenches at it, at how readily Hancock dove into satisfy this request, and that's just about the last coherent thought he has for the duration. His hands tense against the desktop, but only to keep hold as Hancock's brutal pace threatens to tip him over.

Beneath the tips of his fingers, in those new little indents the ghoul won't have the any problem feeling the heat as Nick winds back up. Nick's choking on it, drowning in the sensations, and Hancock just keeps ratchetting him higher and higher. It's so good--another flag trips as his left eye's connection flickers, the servos in his jaw are straining their designed angle, and his auxiliary fans are grinding without--

Nick hasn't the faintest.

A cable comes loose at the nape of his neck and that thread collapses. The sudden instability kicks off a blinding cascade crash. Nick sucks in one deep, powerful gasp as one system trips another and another. He freezes up as that little spark of extra dances right across the edges of his perception--then his whole mind blanks out with that terminal snap and hum. A crash of rads bubbles over his silicon skin and, all at once, Nick goes completely slack.]

[chem_break]

[ New sensations flicker under the ghoul's fingertips, beneath the subtle indents (so much better than love-bites) he's left in a crescent up the back of Nick's neck. Maybe he should be worried-- there isn't nothing in him that's worried-- but it all seems to be harmony in the same symphony, if Hancock's reading things right.

All in all this is more about Crashing Nick than Smashing himself, but that sweet-wicked spike of radiation catches the ghoul by surprise, rolling up his nerves off his core, spider-webbing up his dick and into his stomach. It's not quite electric, not a typically tangible shade of energy. Something hard to define, especially all wrapped in the bliss of brutally fucking Nick's mouth via his so sweetly pleaded request.

The ghoul trembles as the synth unwinds, slack and quiet. If he wasn't so enthusiastically invited, Hancock might start to feel bad about making such a mess of the synth's throat. Doesn't exactly give the choice between spit or swallow, does he? A hiss slithers from the ghoul's clenched teeth as he carefully extracts himself from that dangerously addictive mouth. ]

How the fuck did you do that?

[ He knows Nick can't answer, it's rhetorical. Hancock does his best to keep himself and his indisposed partner upright, one hand on Nick's shoulder and the other on the edge of the desk. Hazy jet-black eyes paint the spent synth over and over again with drunken adoration.

The guy must really, really trust him. Might as well be a neon sign. Just that thought is enough to put a flutter in Hancock's chest. ]

[robotdick]

[Nick was knocked for one hell of a loop but it only takes him a minute or two of down time before his drives are spinning back up. His servos realign first, just like the last time, and Nick's body draws him back up straight, settling in a default posture as it calibrates his balance. There's a litany of noises and small movements before Nick's eyes reopen. He's blank for a few ticks, blinks twice, and comes back to himself in a full-body wash of ease.

First thing he sees is Hancock, propped against the desk and staring at him, expression soft and laced with the post-sex haze that consumes him every time. Nick gives him a fond look in return and, in the background, all his sensors kick back on. His brow furrows as a surprising list flags flow up behind his eyes. He reads through them, if reading is the right verb at all to describe it, and then gives an amused snort--he'd meant to curse but his throat had siezed shut the moment he'd powered up.

The sensors above and below that point were online, readings were just fine (including the one that told him he'd been opted in to "swallow" which, frankly, he'd have happily expressed). One segment of his throat had just decided to give up and turn off. Nick's gaze went distant as he called up his fragmented logs. When he finds the error, his huff of laughter is a high wheeze, not unlike the breaths he took under Hancock's grip.

Sound like that might be alarming without context, but Nick just gives the ghoul that lopsided smile of his, leans back a little, and stretches. His servos are stiff, but that's nothing new. His neck and shoulders readjusted noisily but Nick seemed pretty content. Apart from those two hiccups he Nick was right as rain.

Satisfied with the diagnostic, and with the view of Hancock perched on that--his desk, Nick is pretty content to just revel in it. Hancock probably wouldn't enjoy being left in the dark, though, so Nick holds up his hands and pantomimes writing on a piece of paper. Hancock had found a damned camera and film in that desk, surely there was a pen in there somewhere.]

[chem_break]

[ In a way that is both very different and much the same as Nick, Hancock's brain functions come back online in queued segments. It's harder to align his senses after the second (more or less) consecutive shot, his nerves deliciously raw and tired from the encore performance. Somehow Nick completely destroys the ghoul's stamina but he's not gunna start complaining. At least not right now. ]

You always look so fresh after. Smug bastard. [ Said with all the fondness. Hancock makes a lazy gesture to his own throat, around about the place he thought he spotted a cord pop out during all the fireworks. ]

Think I might'a broke somethin'? Thought I saw somethin' snap... my logistics were all fucked at the time, think you know what I mean

[ Oh yeah, sounds like something's messed up with Nick's airflow; but if the Synth himself doesn't seem too troubled, Hancock's not going to get all bent outta shape about it. Nick looked blissed beyond language to take all that affectionate abuse. There is... something to that train of thought, though. Hancock keeps it in mind while he leans sideways across the desk, yanks open a drawer, and fishes inside for something to write with. A moment later he's found a pad of yellow sticky notes and a loaded mechanical pencil. There are pens, but they're probably dry. ]

Here ya go, slick. If I thought it'd help, I'd offer ya a cup'a tea for that sore throat. [ he smirks, reclining. ]

Promise this has stuff to do with stuff, but just answer me this: you know Morse code, right?

[ While the ghoul speaks he pushes himself onto his feet. He does not quite wobble two steps, and then melts back onto Nick's lavish duvet with a contented sigh. He still lounges like he owns the place, casting a curious look at his deliciously damaged partner. ]

Quick tag here as I write action elsewhere.

[robotdick]

[Hancock's got the gist of it already, it seemsd, but he takes the pad and pencil anyway. The offer of tea gets him another wheezing huff as Nick jots down two quick notes in succession. First one he hands over is simple and Nick's handwriting, it turns out, is eerily perfect twelve point Courier.]

Yeah ...?

[The second, which he started writing first, is a bit longer. Nick gets back to writing it as soon as that first one's changed hands. It takes him another few seconds to finish up then he passes that one too.]

Got it in one. Fucked me so hard you unplugged my throat. Easy fix.

[chem_break]

[ Weird handwriting but it totally tracks, Hancock's gunna roll with it. He takes the notes when they're offered, each earning a tired but hearty huff of laughter as he reads them over. ]

Ah, well. As long as it's an easy fix. Glad you had a good time, I sure as hell did. But I thought, hey, in case I ever do cross a line...

[ Hancock rolls onto his back, stretches out to the brink of his comfort and drops himself against the plush with a lazy, savoring sigh. ]

You could do the SOS thing? Three quick taps, three longer taps, three quick taps. Two fingers makin' a point, for clarity. Thought it'd work since safe words, bein' actual words, require the use of your mouth. And apparently, I got real appetites for your mouth.

[robotdick]

[Hancock looked comfortable beyond reason, stretched out to occupy that whole ridiculous bed. Nick watched him adjust, really luxuriate in the duvet, and wondered if it had even occurred to him to climb under the sheets. The suggestion is an interesting one and Nick nods along, frowning thoughtfully before returning to write on a note.

This time, when he passes it over, he sits on the edge of the bed and sticks it to Hancock's chest.]

Good idea. I was gonna install a warning light. Yours needs less soldering.

[Nick goes back to writing and this one's quick enough.]

Mind plugging me back in?

[He could do it himself, all he'd need was something decently reflective and a screwdriver, but it'd be easier for Hancock to reach in and reconnect that cable.

...thinking it in so many words did make it sound more macabre than Nick expected.

He held off writing another note, though. He didn't expect Hancock would mind, but he might have to wait a minute or two for the ghoul to regain his finer motor skills.]

[chem_break]

[ Uhm 'On Top' type blankets are usually only for when you're wet or injured okay, what are we here the ritz? Well... actually yeah, but it hasn't yet occurred to Hancock that he can climb under the blankets. They already feel so crazy luxurious on his back-- even the air in here feel luxurious on his skin.

He plucks the note off his chest and squints at it whilst giving a read. ]

I'm full'a brilliance and you should come to expect it by now [ He replies to the first written note before taking a gander at the second. With a hazy kind of nod and a general good nature Hancock sits himself up again, though not without a tired groan. ]

Yeah, I got it. Lemme see what that asshole did to ya... [ He jokes fondly, swaying more than leaning towards Nick, taking a closer look at the distraught, moist mechanics of his throat. ]

Think I see the cord that popped... is it this one?

[ His touch isn't timid, but it's reasonably cautious. His fingertips coax the displaced cable into his grasp, and he holds it with absolute tenderness, the exact opposite of the blissful brutality he'd used to inflict the damage in the first place. ]

[robotdick]

[Nick scrawls another note, but he doesn't pass it back, just tosses it toward the pillows along with the pencil.

It's easier to get at the socket without his shirt on so Nick takes the moment to finally shuck his rumpled button down and tie. When he bows his head forward, if Hancock looks carefully, there's a port and a board just behind the back of his throat. The inner workings of his trachea are fascinating, a series of mechanical irises and long woven cabling, all drawn through hydraulics and free wires. None of the other open ports match the end of that cable, though, so it's not hard to guess where it fits in.

Nick can't feel those cables, not in the same sense that he can feel touch. He knows when one disconnects, but when they do it drops the sensor data for everything downstream of it. This is a simple job, but it's about as dangerous as setting a broken bone. Hancock's delicacy is noted and appreciated more than Nick can say (hah).

The note he tossed down just says: You should see the other guy.]

NGL nice to have these two tones of interaction to bounce between

[chem_break]

[ Ooh, striptease. Obviously not, but it doesn't mean Hancock's not gunna take the cheap, giddy little pleasure when he can. It's not good in exactly the same way as organic nudity, but all the important aspects still play and feel the same. The trust of it. The chance to see something not everyone gets to see. Casual comfort of being close and vulnerable, together? Yeah, Hancock's definitely not going to feel bad about losing a moment or two enjoying the show-- even if it's not a show at all.

It's absolutely trippy getting a good look inside the mechanics of Nick's throat. Those devious, devious irises. Just watching them tick makes Hancock's mouth go dry. But he's on a mission here, a quest. So he slants his focus on what he's looking for.

He's still no Robotics Expert, but finding a port to match a cable is... basic science, even for grunting mammals. He's got keen enough eyes and brains that he can pick out the matching shapes after a few moments, but he's still careful and cautious in pressing the cable's connection into the port. Maybe he doesn't have to be so careful, but some poorly thought out instinct is probably suggesting to the ghoul that Nick might be 'sore'.

He finally hears a satisfying 'click' when the cable finds it's place, and he gives a little extra push to make sure it's snug. ]

There ya go, think I got it? You start speakin' Spanish or somethin and I'll give it another go.

Right? Though there are some really disconcerting parallels here at the moment.

[robotdick]

[Hancock can probably see when the power kicks back into that siezed iris. It calibrates, opening and adjusting until it falls into alignment with the rest. Nick manages to clear his throat this time and, from the inside, the complexity of that sound is made entirely too apparent.]

Only know enough Spanish to ask how to get to a library.

[Nick pulls a deep, experimental breath and lets it out. He doesn't sit up right away, stays in position and waits for Hancock to move away. He can't feel those and the last thing he wants to do is accidentally catch a finger between his moving parts. Fun as it is to brutalize the others, neither of them would get a kick out of that.]

That's been loose for a while, comes out every now and again.

XD It's accidental foreshadowing?

[chem_break]

[ He's too tired to smother the wattage on the smile that crosses his face when Nick's voice re-activates. Short amount of silence it took, to make the ghoul miss hearing Nick's voice. ]

Why the hell does everyone know how to ask that in Spanish? They got somethin' goin' down at the Libraries I don't know about?

[ Weird cultural phenomenon, that. Hancock... does not have the mental capacity to spin too many hypotheticals. Not with how his brain stutters watching those mechanics clench and click when he knows exactly what that feels like on his dick. He's just gunna... sit back now. Blink. Swallow. Breathe. Phew. ]

Overdue for a tune-up, aincha? Much as poppin' a throat cord is probably a pain, we all got quirky broken bits. Just makes ya more relatable, in my books. Ya catch I'm missin' a toe? Downright disturbing.

Does it count as foreshadowing if we finish the other one first? LMAO.

[robotdick]

[Hancock pulls back and once Nick's sure he's clear and sits back upright. He leans back, shirtless, but still wearing his wrinkled, stained slacks, and gives Hancock a look that's equal parts fondness and dry amusement.]

Sorry. Nine toes is a real dealbreaker for me, pal.

[Nick couldn't have sold that less than he did just then. He considers staying, kicking back on the bed with Hancock, but now that they're sated and comfortable--and now that this place has been declared his--he has to admit to a streak of curiosity. He ends up splitting the difference, grabbing his discarded button down and tie and standing up.

The master has a washroom, it would be bizarre for one this ritzy to be lacking one, and Nick meanders over to it. He's a bit of a stickler for his appearance, insofar as he can be, and he can only hope that this place has pipes that aren't solid rust. As he steps in to the bathroom Nick flicked on the light and gave a surprised, low whistle as the fixtures all came into view.

Place was black marble and gold fixtures and a sunken tub the size of a small jacuzzi. The shower was a walk in affair with one of those big square heads. Had two sinks, even, and a wall of mirror that miraculously survived two hundred years in tact. In the corner--

Nick actually grinds to a halt. He stares, processes, drops his clothing right there, straight onto the floor, and turns right back around. He's only been gone about thirty seconds but when he steps back into the bedroom his expression is stricken, shocked like he'd seen a ghost seated at the vanity in there. His gaze snaps to Hancock and, before he can even think, he's at the side of the bed, bent almost in two, kissing the ghoul as hard as he's ever done.

Nick means this one too--his hands end up flanking Hancock's face, holding him tightly. His eyes close, and that look of sweet, agonizing bliss just slides over his face like it became his default setting.]

[chem_break]

Oof, sucker punched [ Hancock slaps a hand over his own bare chest like he's been struck in the heart. ] Guess I gotta respect a guy's boundaries...

[ It's actually unfair how this kind of Crash and Reboot sequence seems to leave Nick like he's a morning joe on a fresh cup of black; meanwhile, Hancock, despite all his ghoulish stamina, feels like he could drop into a nap. Terribly boring of him, but the bed is soft and his nerves are sated and he feels-- good. Just, so very good. And it's nice, and maybe Hancock could get used to feeling like this.

Nick seems to get curious and Hancock can hardly blame the guy; he's been an awful tour guide, and maybe he ought to get up and start showcasing the digs... but he already sold it, didn't he? Nick wants in. Wants to be close. Just that thought alone is enough to tug a crooked, hazy smile across Hancock's mouth.

When had his eyes closed? They open in a snap when suddenly Nick is back and kissing him, inexorable. The ghoul's senses all reel back alive and light up his tired nerves, creating a delicious strain that boarders the territory of masochism. It's almost too much, in a way that can't ever be enough. He's quicker to lose this breath this round, but doesn't draw back, only steals quick gasps when a thin blade of air cuts between their mouths. ]

Hey, Casanova? What's gotten into you? Ya find the washer and dryer or somethin'?

[robotdick]

[Hancock's question has Nick grinning ear to ear.]

You could'a opened with those, you know. No need to go burying the lede like that.

[Hancock's drowsy and breathless but this might as well be a vertibird for how absurd it is. He gives him another kiss, quick and firm, before he tenderly smooths both thumbs over Hancock's cheeks and stands back up. Nick grabs Hancock's discarded coat et all and promptly darts back into the washroom.

Yeah, okay, so it's a little over the top to be so enthusiastic about this. Just a pair of antique, pre-war appliances in a broom closet, right? They might not even work, or they might not be hooked up, or the tanks might have rusted out like that soda-fountain's had, but Nick's been hand-washing this getup in a bucket for a hundred years. If this building had nothing but the washer and dryer, he'd still have contendedly moved in. (Not that he isn't ecstatic about the rest and, primarily, being a lot closer to Hancock, but this is probably the rarest find in the commonwealth and it's just...in his new home, easy as. Ellie was absolutely going to lose her shit about this.)]

[chem_break]

[ Washer and Dryer, baby. The highest of all luxuries. Hancock mentally pats himself on the back for the correct guess. The touch to his face creates the same dizzy-pleasure-gladness as the kiss, leaving Hancock grinning-- beaming at the Synth as he pulls away, ready to go play with his new appliances. ]

Burying the... can we pretend I made some kinda clever sex joke with that? It's a damn tempting set up but not sure I got the 'knock down' part in me

[ He just needs one of a few things: a nap, caffeine, some kind of helpful upper, maybe a shock from a security baton... usually Hancock can't stand being idle, but Nick's left him with just the right about of energy drain and quenched affection. But Nick himself... doesn't actually sleep, does he? Hancock briefly feels like a boring old man for the unavoidable organic behavior. ]

I'm glad your likin' the ritzy digs. And hey, thanks for not callin' me crazy for springin' it on ya. It WAS actually you, sayin' ya like when I'm... over zealous. Guess ya gotta be careful what ya ask for.

[robotdick]

[Hancock gets treated to all the classic sounds (new to him, Nick supposes) of someone loading up a washer and turning it on. When Nick walks back in he's nearly down to the skin, save for the absurd undershorts he has on. Those have managed to stay clean enough, a nice side effect of not sweating. They're a formality, though, because they certainly aren't hiding anything but some extra expanses of skin.

Nick's legs, as rarely displayed as the rest of him, are about as banged up as his arms but the weathering is less godawful. His calves are weirdly shapely and, in a move of either forgetfulness or hubris, he's still wearing his tucked-up sock garters when he walks back out, barefoot, into what is now his bedroom.

Is he taking advantage of Hancock's absolutely shattered state to walk around in heart boxers and sock garters like an old man from a comic book? Yes.

Is he only doing it because the ghoul doesn't have the energy to give him hell about it? Also yes.]

Nothin to apologize for--I mean, I can't say I ever expected a gift quite like this. This is damn near impossible and you handed it off to me? I--yeah--I admit it's a bit much for one synth alone.

[Nick, comfortable and relaxed despite this newfound exposure, moves to the desk and the terminal. He boots it up just to crack in and see what the last guy left lying around. Also to maybe offload some of the video he's snapped. If he's going to have photos of him being debauched (and he plans on keepin those), it's only square to have Hancock saved in his secure files.]

Good thing I got you kicking around to make it interesting.

...And having Ellie and the agency in here won't hurt, either.

[chem_break]

[ Hancock will absolutely recover the energy to be a typical pain in the ass, menace to society in short order. If Nick ever feels like making him heel though, now he understands now. Hard for the Ghoul to be eyeballs deep in some kind of trouble when he's feeling more inclined for a quick nap on his Not Boyfriend's bed. ]

Ah-ah-ah. You already signed the lease. No Take backs. [ He's already got the stats back for ribbing, it seems, lazy as his demeanor still is. ] You're stuck with me now, Slick. Sorry to tell ya.

[ Mmph... where is his hat. Hancock's eyes are tired of neon underlighting. He can't actually be assed to move around too much though, just settling for slinging a bare forearm across his eyes and laying slack like the odd arm-bend is perfectly comfortable and natural. ]

Uh-huh. Looks like your new Landlord's thought'a everything. How the hell'd you get so lucky?

[robotdick]

Slept with the guy.

[Nick answers without missing a beat. The terminal is kicking him back with written passwords and, since he already plans on uploading to it regardless, Nick just cuts out the middleman. He disconnects a wire in his skeletal arm and it goes slack. Casual as anything he plugs that wire right into the side of the terminal and lets it run. His background processing is more than enough to crack low end tech like a personal computer. The screen blanks and all his code is printed to it as he flies through the registry and reorganizes things to his liking.

The fact that this method hacking also lets him turn in his new office chair and leer at Hancock is not lost on him.]

Turns out he likes dancing and rust martinis, wild right?

[chem_break]

Nice. Classic move.

[ He hears that Nick is doing... things. Clicking, clocking, fussing. He's curious, but he doesn't quite peel his arm off of face for a peek. The inclination to do so just gets gently set aside; has any bed in his entire life ever been this comfortable? ]

Sounds like a sucker. Take 'im for all he's worth.

[ He still smiles, beneath the awkward sling of his arm, oblivious to Nick's leering. A subconscious stretch has him unfurl his toes and absently rub his foot against the duvet.]

'Specially if it means ya take me dancing again, heh.

[robotdick]

I'll see if I can't get him to help me tow a jukebox in here. Then we can dance all we want.

[Nick watches him stretch out, just like the large cat Nick always compares him to, toes spread against the soft blanket. Behind him, the terminal clicks away, hard drives clicking as they spin up and record the data Nick's dumping into them. In the background of it all, the sounds of a washing machine cycle going underscores the moment making the synth feel like he must be hallucinating.

This place went, in one afternoon, from a staggering novelty to feeling so domestic, so homey that if he were capable of it, he'd be choking up. He's not sure what the hell he did to deserve this, but he's not about to start complaining now.

Behind him the terminal beeps as the files finish copying over. He logs out without looking and retrieves his cable from the small computer. It's a bit of a bitch to put this particular cable back in, but it's the only one with slack so he doesn't have a lot of options unless he wasn't to fish one out of his leg. (He does not.) He gets it on the second try, as usual, and goes back to watching Hancock.]

You know that's the cover blanket right? The sheets are probably nicer.

[chem_break]

Radio's probably lighter, but yeah, make the guy work for it

[ It's... undeniably comfortable, listening to the chatter of oddly domestic white noise. Hancock doesn't even have a frame of reference for that, for this-- but he likes it, this easy-breezy chill. This coupled, affectionate safety. He doesn't care much to figure out the schematics of it-- is it Nick, this place, the satisfaction of two orgasms in less than an hour?

Doesn't matter. Hancock usually doesn't feel this kind of chill unless it's chemically induced. He's doing the stubborn thing-- not wanting to sleep because it feels so good being here, awake, trading friendly banter and soaking in the insane thread count. ]

Eh? But it's so soft just layin' on it like this...?

[ Since he's employing one of his arms as a sleeping mask, it's the free hand that goes blindly groping about the duvet for an edge to catch and grab. Blanket size doesn't often square up with bed size in his rough experiences; you just can't match blankets to bed-size post-apocalypse. Except when you apparently can.

Hancock finds the edge of the blanket at the edge of the bed-- pulling it on means getting off of it though, and that's a pretty tall order. Instead, after a bit of lazy pulling and rolling, he's become a Ghoul Blanket Burrito. ]

... Yeah this works.